It’s Monday. And it’s been one of those Mondays. You know what you need — a little bit of comfort and kindness, to just let go of everything for a couple of hours. With that in mind, you text your girls to meet you at the corner bar and head over after work.
As you walk in, sliding onto a stool at the bar, your eyes widen when you see the new bartender asking you, “What’s your pleasure?” Ohmigod, it’s fuckhawt Bartender Rob. There's something about the way his luscious lips wrap around the word "pleasure" that instantly makes you feel tingly in all the right places. It takes a moment for you to snap your mouth shut. You give him your order and can’t take your eyes off of him as his deftly mixes your drink with long, agile fingers that you can just imagine reaching across the bar to caress your face, moving down your neck, unbuttoning your blouse, pushing it open, skimming along your sides . . . You are snapped out of your reverie when he hands you a drink. He looks intently into your eyes and, as you are drowning in his, he asks you what’s wrong.
Before you know it, you are talking and laughing. It’s a slow night and he keeps your glass filled and you entertained. You slip easily into a conversation that somehow goes on for hours without you realizing it. At some point, you realize your girls never showed up, and you’re actually thankful. Every time he speaks, you watch his lips, imagining how they would feel on your neck There’s something about the scruff on his cheeks that makes you want to nuzzle into it. Almost of it’s own volition, your hand reaches out to touch the top of his chest. He puts his hand over yours, and announces last call without looking up from your eyes. Your mouth, something you used to control with some facility, inexplicably opens and blurts out, "You're beautiful." He licks his lips and smiles a gorgeous crooked smile, and somehow your entire focus is on that lovely pink tongue as it moves in slow motion, that full bottom lip, the angular lines of his jaw.
Other patrons file out, but he asks you to stay, and you do, still talking easily as he wipes down the bar. Suddenly, he’s in front of you and you’re pulling him to you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Common sense, work tomorrow, everything else flies out of your mind and you melt into Bartender Rob. Oh yeah, that’s the good stuff!
For more fuckhawt Bartender Rob...
Under the Influence, by Dopeshieet
Captive of a Bartender, by AcrossTheSkyInStars
Olympic Rain and Novocain, by AddiCakes
He's Just Not That Into You, by MkGrays
Distractions, by Sic Et Non (needs a beta reader, but pretty well written)
Hey Cowboy, by amgglekim
Sophisticated, To the Point, Effective, by AprilAnne
Don't You Want Me?, by Ruby-Wednesday
White Horse, by FoxxCRUSH
As you walk in, sliding onto a stool at the bar, your eyes widen when you see the new bartender asking you, “What’s your pleasure?” Ohmigod, it’s fuckhawt Bartender Rob. There's something about the way his luscious lips wrap around the word "pleasure" that instantly makes you feel tingly in all the right places. It takes a moment for you to snap your mouth shut. You give him your order and can’t take your eyes off of him as his deftly mixes your drink with long, agile fingers that you can just imagine reaching across the bar to caress your face, moving down your neck, unbuttoning your blouse, pushing it open, skimming along your sides . . . You are snapped out of your reverie when he hands you a drink. He looks intently into your eyes and, as you are drowning in his, he asks you what’s wrong.
Before you know it, you are talking and laughing. It’s a slow night and he keeps your glass filled and you entertained. You slip easily into a conversation that somehow goes on for hours without you realizing it. At some point, you realize your girls never showed up, and you’re actually thankful. Every time he speaks, you watch his lips, imagining how they would feel on your neck There’s something about the scruff on his cheeks that makes you want to nuzzle into it. Almost of it’s own volition, your hand reaches out to touch the top of his chest. He puts his hand over yours, and announces last call without looking up from your eyes. Your mouth, something you used to control with some facility, inexplicably opens and blurts out, "You're beautiful." He licks his lips and smiles a gorgeous crooked smile, and somehow your entire focus is on that lovely pink tongue as it moves in slow motion, that full bottom lip, the angular lines of his jaw.
Other patrons file out, but he asks you to stay, and you do, still talking easily as he wipes down the bar. Suddenly, he’s in front of you and you’re pulling him to you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Common sense, work tomorrow, everything else flies out of your mind and you melt into Bartender Rob. Oh yeah, that’s the good stuff!
For more fuckhawt Bartender Rob...
Under the Influence, by Dopeshieet
Captive of a Bartender, by AcrossTheSkyInStars
Olympic Rain and Novocain, by AddiCakes
He's Just Not That Into You, by MkGrays
Distractions, by Sic Et Non (needs a beta reader, but pretty well written)
Hey Cowboy, by amgglekim
Sophisticated, To the Point, Effective, by AprilAnne
Don't You Want Me?, by Ruby-Wednesday
White Horse, by FoxxCRUSH
